Tea
by Velvet95
Summary: Nicole lives for adventure. Honest, she loves it. She, however, hates tea. Her house mate is exasperated. Pure, unrepentant fluff. My brain demanded I write this down. Don't judge me.


In, out, in, out.

Breathe.

The trail was dusty, rock and branch strewn, precipitous and at least ninety degrees Fahrenheit. What mattered the most to be at the time, however, was that the trail seemed to be going straight up the mountain and there was a lower gear I could get into without redesigning the damn mountain bike altogether.

My lungs burned. My shoulders ached. My eyelashes were sweating, not to mention every other inch of my body. My knees were straining against the confines of my skin, longing to pop out if it meant stopping. My nose itched, and was forced to try and use low branches to scratch it since letting go of the handlebars promised instant death. I also wasn't sure if I stopped whether or not I could get started again.

In, out, in, out.

Breathe.

Don't look up.

Don't look down.

Don't stop.

Almost there.

My, the rotation of my front wheel is interesting. Didn't think I could go that slow and not fall over.

The top.

It was a hot, weed-choked patch of dirt with a sign proclaiming "SUMMIT" in grand letters. Below me the valley stretched out, an impressive vistas of orange orchards and oak groves, shimmering slightly in the heat. The distant river would its silvery length past trees, scrub, and the duty gold of the sandstone cliffs along the valley edge.

I feat nauseated.

It was altogether too hot for spring.

My heart was hammering painfully in my chest and my legs were trembling. I fumbled with my water bottle and gratefully swallowed a mouthful of the lukewarm liquid. I didn't eve care that it tasted like plastic.

Made it.

Looking down, I was chagrined to see that the trail didn't look nearly as step as it had felt climbing up it.

Figures

I decided I didn't care. I had been intensely painful, and I had overcome; that's all that mattered to me. I tugged off my helmet and squired the water bottle in the general direction of my head, and signed. I eyed the bike seat with distaste, then mournfully climbed back on. The ride down, I reasoned, would be well worth all the pain and discomfort.

Helmet firmly in place, water bottle emptied, excitement building, I took a deep breath, exhaled a quick prayer, and dropped over the side of the hill.

"aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH"

Or, at least, that's what it sounded like I was saying as I careened down the trail, more or less completely out of control and desperately trying not to crash into a tree or large builder. Too late, I remembered the creek that I had passed on the way up, the creek I had crossed by hoisting the bike over one shoulder and picking my way across.

My tires dug a trench in the trail as I hauled on the brakes with everything I had.

"Oh shit, oh shit, HOLY SHIIIIIIIiiiiiiiii—"

I sailed over the small embankment Oh God don't hit that rock and landed sprawling in three feet of water with a resounding splash. My ass cheeks were pressed painfully into several large rocks.

I was no longer hot, except under the collar.

Granting, I struggled to my feet and stood dropping wet in the middle of the stream, watching my dignity wash away with the current. When I was sure that I had no mortal injury, I slogged over to my bike and staggered out of the water. I wanted nothing more than to get home to a hot shower and a soft bed. Wincing, I climbed back and pushed off.

I was not happy. There's nothing like wet chamois riding up your butt, itching like crazy, to ruin a good ride. I refused to think about falling into the creek. No witnesses, I thought. I'll just let that one slide and tell everyone I went swimming...

ThaTHUDthaTHUDthaTHUD

"God dammit!"

The front wheel lurched crookedly in the fork, apparently bent on impact.

Great. Just wonderful.

Oh well, I thought at last. It will at least get me home.

SSSSSSSSSsssssssssss...

Or maybe not. I glared at the swiftly deflating tire, the trail ahead, the sky above, and mentally cursed the world in general and mountain bikes specifically. With a grunt and a heave I had my bike over one shoulder and was heading down the trail again, muttering blasphemies under my breath and trying not to think about how far I had to go.

—

"So why didn't you call me?" My house mate Waverly asked

I was reclining my long body as best I could in our small bath tub, bubbles to my chin for modesty's sake given that I had company. I attempted to relax my muscles and tried not to wince at the string of the hot, soapy water on my collection of cuts and scrapes.

I sighed as I tried to find a more comfortable position. "I didn't mind the walk so much. It gave me a chance to repent on my sins."

"Sins? What sins? Aside from the standard ones, anyway." She deftly finished the braid she'd been working on while she kept me company in the bathroom and winked at me.

"A really important sin. I'm sure it's in the Ten Commandments somewhere — 'thou shalt not purchase mountain bike and pretend to be a mountain bike expert the next day.'"

Waverly laughed and handed me a wash cloth. "Here. You missed some smudges."

I scrubbed where she indicated. I had walked several miles to get home and had barely managed to get clothes off before collapsing into the warm water.

Something dinged in the kitchen. Waverly pushed herself up from her perch on the toilet and strolled out.

"How bad is the bike?" She called. I could hear her clattering pots and mugs around.

"Needs a new front wheel maybe, not sure." I stared at my toes, nothing that my blister had receded slightly and that the bruise on my left big toe was getting darker.

I sighed again.

Waverly re-entered the bathroom with a steaming mug.

"Here. Have some tea."

I groaned. "Waverly, I don't like tea. You know I don't like tea." I knew I was going to lose this argument, but I also knew that if I didn't argue she would think I was even worse off than I was and give me something nastier. Waverly was a great believer in herbal medicine and the more vile tasting the concoction the more powerful a healer it was in her opinion.

I didn't trust Waverly's opinion too much on this. People like Waverly were the reason pharmaceutical companies make money making pills you can swallow without tasting them.

"Oh just drink it. It's raspberry with a little bit of chamomile. You might even like it!"

I leaned forward, jerked the shower curtain open for some privacy, and turned on the shower. "All right, all right. Let me get out and I'll drink your damn tea.

I rinsed off and hurriedly hopped into boxers, a tank top, and a warm robe (a gift from Waverly the previous Christmas). The other thing I knew about Waverly's teas was that though usually disgusting when hot, they were even worse when cold.

Gurglegurgle.

I hung motionless.

Gurglegurgle.

I continue to hang motionless.

Gurglegurgle.

In, out, in, out.

Breathe.

At the rate I was going, I was going to run out of air before the shark decided to leave go pester somebody else. He cruised around me endlessly, sometimes disappearing just long enough for me to think that he was gone for good, but always instantly reappearing just as I'd start to head for the surface. So I sat there, hugging a rock, trying to remain inconspicuous and uneaten. My diving buddy was glancing worriedly at his air pressure gauge and looking longingly at the surface, a mere forty feet away.

I mostly looked at the shark. From an objective sort of view, he was a magnificent specimen, ten feet long, dark bluish gray with a triangular head and fins, dark eyes and overwhelming abundance of teeth.

Very sharp, serrated, teeth.

Gurglegurgle.

In, out, in, out.

Breathe.

I found myself wish for Waverly to show up and give the shark some sort of tea, something to make it want to go lie down and take a nap.

I had five minutes of air left. I looked over at my partner, noticed he was sweating under his mask — little beads of perspiration forming on the bridge of his nose — and sighed through my regulator.

Gurglegurglegurgle.

I got his attention and jerked my thumb up towards the surface, diver speak for "go up." His eyes widened, and he started to shake his head when I pointed to his air pressure gauge. He grabbed it, stared at it, stared at the shark, stared at me, then finally nodded miserably.

Up we went.

The shark watched with interest.

Inoutinoutinoutinoutinout.

Breathebreathebreathbreath...

Breath slower, you idiot, your going to get the bends!

Breeeeaaaaathe.

The shark circled up with us, never getting closer, but never leaving. We broke surface behind the dive boat and the crew cheerfully pulled us up on to the deck. I have expected some violent tugging on one of my legs and was scrambling for safety as fast as carrying sixty pounds of equipment allows one.

"How was your dive? The dive master asked, smiling.

My assigned diving partner (Dave? Fred?) had been reduced to a shivering mass of Lycra and neoprene. "Th... there was a SHARK down there!"

The dive master chuckled. "Oh, that's old Neptune. Didn't we tell you about him?"

I was almost overcome by an incredible urge to throttle the man. "No, no you didn't"

I was proud of the steadiness of my voice.

"Lots of divers feed him, so if he sees the boat come in, he tends to hang around hoping for a free dinner."

"How nice," I replied acidly. I stripped off my gear, stalked into the galley, and liberated three bottles of the crews' stash of Coronas. The crew wisely forbore from mentioning this breach of boat policy by the look on my face, correctly assuming that I was done diving for the day.

So much for my weekend summer getaway.

—

"So did you pee in your wet suit?"

I lay facedown on a massage table (a Christmas present from myself to Waverly), gasping slightly. I was being walked all over, literally; Waverly had recently completed a class in Japanese massage and was now taking a leisurely stroll across my vertebrae.

"Of course not," I grunted as she she proved one particularly troublesome spot below my shoulder blade. "Even my bladder was too scared to move."

Satisfied, Waverly jumped lightly to the ground. With her long hair coiled tightly into a bun, she looked like a wood elf. "Get up and walk around a bit. You need to loosen those muscles up."

"Walk around?" I groaned. "I don't think I can even move."

She tapped one cheek with a thoughtful finger. "Maybe you need some of my new tea."

I was and up and running, pulling a sweartshirt on over my sports bra. "Oh, I feel much better, thank you."

Waverly followed me into the kitchen where I studiously avoided the tea pot and grabbed a beer. The tiles were extremely cold under my bare feet so I headed for the warmth of the living room, away from the tea.

"So what's next?" Sarah asked as she curled into the corner of our sofa.

I sank into the battered easy chair closest to the fireplace, letting the heat warm the soles of my feet and chase away the chill of the night. "What do you mean, 'what's next?'"

"You know what I mean," Waverly retorted. "You spend all your free time and money coming up with new ways to kill yourself. I was just wondering where the next rampage is going to send you."

I tried not to look offended. "I am not trying to kill myself. I am just trying to lead an active lifestyle."

Waverly scoffed. "You're idea of an active lifestyle is risking life and limb. I find myself wondering if you're going to come home in a box every time you leave."

"Very funny," I said sourly. "Your concern for my well-being is overwhelming."

She threw a pillow at me. "I'm being serious, you twit. I don't understand why you push yourself so hard. Why can't you take up fold or something?"

"Golf's boring, and those outfits are too ugly for me." I sipped my beer and leaned my head back against the cushions, considering. Okay, so maybe I was a bit of an adrenaline junkie. There wasn't anything wrong with that, was there? I mean, I never got reallyhurt. On other hand, I reminded myself, I almost always got hurt.

Maybe Waverly was onto something. Maybe my next bout of free time should be spent a little more quietly, a little less exciting...

—

In, out, in, out.

Breathe?

"Remember," the jump master shouted. "Spread eagle all the way to open chute, then lock up in landing position!"

I looked apprehensively at the wide exit hatch of the plane, trying to remember when this had sounded like such a good idea. I fingered my rip cord nervously and for the fortieth time wished I had gone to Hawaii for the fall off-season and pre-winter wavers instead of sitting in a place a couple of thousand feet above the Mojave desert, preparing to exit it the hard way.

"GO GO GO GO," the jump master screamed, pointing at a large X barely visible on the ground far below.

We went. Like a set of neon dominos, we fell from the plane in a graceful line, falling deceptively fast towards a rude reunion with Mother Earth.

The wind was whipping past my face so fast I couldn't breathe; my cheeks were ballooning as the air was forced into my lungs.

Then the instructor was there, correcting my (horrendously bad) spread eagle position, grinning at my shocked expression, and giving me a thumbs up sign. He indicated my rip cord and made a jerking motion with his hand, then pointed to his altimeter, flashing fingers at me twice, rapidly.

Translation: pull your cord at one thousand feet.

I stared at my own altimeter: fifteen hundred feet and falling fast.

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiin...

A few more seconds...

OOOUUUUUUT

The air whooshed out of my violently as I yanked my rip cord and was jerked to less than half of my original velocity by the rapidly expanding chute. With trembling hands I fumbled for the guide lines and attempted to head in the general direction of the landing point.

Much better.

Funny, the landing point seemed to be approaching awfully fast. I pulled experimentally on both guidelines and was rewarded by a slight lessening of sipped.

The ground was getting awfully close now...

Encouraged, I yanked with all my strength on both lines, determined to do a perfect touchdown landing. As I did so, I managed to flip myself over, my body describing a large circle int the air, then landing flat on my back in a cloud of dust and sand.

OOOOOOOOOoooouuuuuut

I felt and intense pain, then dark, mercifully dark.

—

"So the instructor says that the only thing that saved you was that when you flipped around, you did slow down a whole lot." Waverly peered at me from over her reading glasses.

I tried not to scream as she inserted the next needle.

"I thought you said acupuncture wasn't supposed to hurt," I complained, trying to see my back where various needles were sticking out.

"Hold still," she retorted brusquely, pushing my head back down. "It's not. You've got to relax."

"Relax!" I acquiesced grudgingly. I had cracked several ribs and put a hairline fracture in my tibia with my spectacular landing attempt, not to mention having a perpetually sore back ever since. Hence, Waverly was now allowed to try her latest healing skills on me, an agreement I now regretted making.

"Ow," I said, loudly.

"Oops," said Waverly, contritely. "Sorry about that. Let me do it again."

I yelped and grit my teeth.

"There, all done," she finally said, to my immense relief. "So, no more sky diving?"

Now that the poking is done, I did feel like I was starting to relax a bit. "What? Oh, yeah, no. I think I've satisfied that particular urge."

Waverly stepped back, surveying her work like an artist gazing at an easel. She tapped the head of one of the unused needles against her cheek. I tried not to think about how long it was, and whether anything like that was currently inserted into my body somewhere. I close my eyes and push that thought away.

"You know," she said finally. "I think I've decided something."

I snort. "You're just going to kill my yourself and get it over with?"

I hear her blow a raspberry at me. "Very funny, Nic. You may have a death wish, but I'm not going to support it."

"I do NOT have a death wish!"

"Uh huh." She didn't sound particularly convinced. "No, what I was thinking was that I think I'm going to go with you on your next trip."

Excuse me?

I open my eyes so I can roll them at her. "What makes you think I'm going to do another trip like that? I think I'm through being overly adventurous with my active lifestyle."

She threw me a withering glance. "Riiiight. Nic, I know you. There's going to be another big trip as soon as you heal up and have your play money again." She gave me a direct look. "Now, time for your tea."

I groaned.

—

The ancient DC-3 touched down on the small landing trip and lurched to a stop outside a weathered, rickety, hanger. Waverly looked around with interest at the surrounding mountains as we climbed out. Somehow, I had acquired all of our bags and was starting to feel like a Sherpa to Waverly's Edmund Hillary, I guessed somewhat appropriately, considering what we were about to do.

"Would you look at that," someone behind us murmured.

We all looked. Rising majestically above us was the reason we were here, Mount Something-or-other — our Everest. Waverly knew what it was called, having found this expedition. It looked very impressive, though, as our travel agent had assured us, it was a trip geared for beginning mountaineers.

Waverly wandered over from where she had been consulting with the pilot.

"He says to set our tents up over by that tree, and our guides will be here in the morning."

I looked around and found the softest looking spot available and shrugged the bags off our shoulders. Waverly dug our tent out of one of the bags and was busily assembling poles and sorting tent poles, humming cheerfully.

Needless to say, this whole trip had been Waverly's idea. She had decided it would be a good compromise solution, coming somewhere between my proposal (climbing Yosemite's Half-Dome the hard way) and her proposal (touring the gardens of England). To be honest, hiking had sounded sorta boring, but as she had smugly pointed out, neither of us had the faintest idea how to rock climb and Half Dome was probably a bad place for a first attempt.

I was forced to agree, and now jumped as she tasked at me.

"Don't just stand there, dummy. Give me a hand!"

I sketched out a mocking bow. "Yes, Your Majesty"

She glared at me. "Don't give me that, just pound the tent poles in."

—

Dinner that night was a rather exotic affair, punctuated by the pasty-looking couple on vacation from Ohio blowing up their camp stove in a pryotechnic display of exploding kerosene.

All together, there were six of us would-be mountaineers sitting more or less raptly around the bonfire as our pilot regaled us with tales of previous expeditions and their mishaps.

"So much for safe," I murmured to Waverly at one point, having just heard about the two avalanches and one falling tree of the St Louis Kiwanis Group expedition

"This from someone who jumped out of a perfectly good airplane," she shot back. "Relax. This will be the right amount of adventure for you."

Sleeping on the cold, hard, ground did no favors at all for my back, still sensitive to abuse, and even the threat of tea did little to ease my grouchiness when we got up.

However, it was a beautiful morning, and the mountains looked inviting instead of imposing.

It looked a lot less inviting six miles up the trail on the first day. Fortunately, as promised, our guides showed up that morning with a string of pack mules in tow. We didn't have to carry anything heavier than our lunch and a jacket.

That was honestly enough. This trail made the hill I climbed on my mountain bike flat in comparison. Most of the group, I noted with some satisfaction, was in worse shape that I was, but that was the only satisfaction I was getting so far. Waverly, on the other hand, looked like she was out for a casual stroll. I don't even think she was sweating walking up next to one of the guides, chatting happily.

I scowled at her back.

Some time later she dropped back. "The guide says we'll take a break in those trees." She pointed a couple of hundred yards ahead to a small copse of pines.

"Thank God," muttered one of the Ohio Duo behind me. "I think I'm going to faint."

We reached the trees Waverly had indicated and by mutual assent we all collapsed in a sweating heap in the shade.

"Want some?" Waverly proffered her water bottle towards me.

I looked dubiously at the dark liquid sloshing around inside.

"Leftover tea from this morning," she explained. "It's really good! Try it!"

I shuddered. "No, thank you. I think I'll stick to my water."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Her gaze wandered across the stunning landscape, dark shades of green spread across the mountain range we were sitting on, punctuated by brilliant patches of wildflowers and the glistening of the occasional waterfall and eve more occasional snow patch that managed to survive the general spring thaw a few months earlier. I had to admit it was a beautiful spot, though as I felt the blisters forming I sort of wished we had a gondola to enjoy it more thoroughly. Or maybe a helicopter.

—

That night, after dinner, I was sitting at the edge of our campsite, legs dangling over the granite cliff, idly twirling a small rock in my hand. We were about a third of the way up, and our camp was settled on a small ledge on the side of a steep rock face overlooking the plateau we had crossed that afternoon. There was barely enough room for our group of tents and the mules. The couple from New York complained the loudest about the mules, being that they had been the last ones to reach the campsite and were thus closest to the mule shit.

The sun had just set and the sky was striped brilliant hues of red and violet above the silhouetted mountains. My mood matched the scenery; dark and restless.

"So, getting enough of your adrenaline kick?"

Waverly sank down crossed legged next to me, a bug of spiced nuts in her hand. She tilted the bag towards me.

"I guess," I replied, scooping a small handful. "Have to admit it feels a little mundane compared to my usual choices."

She smiled, and looked out over the expansive view. "I know you're probably bored. You haven't risked life and limb." She glanced at me. "You're getting blasé about what normal people call adventures."

"It's not that," I protested. I kicked my boots against the cliff rhythmically. "It's just that we're basically doing a walking tour with a bunch of tourists." I indicated the silent tents behind us. Too tired to appreciate the view, our companions had all collapsed into their sleeping bags immediately after dinner. Our two guides were nonchalantly playing cards by the fire, ignoring us.

"I mean," I continued, a bit lamely. "This is great exercise, but it's not really adventurous."

Waverly gave a little chuckle, then pushed herself up and heading for our tent. "You might be surprised," she called over her shoulder.

I looked around once more, then pitched the rock over the side and went to bed.

—

A cloudy afternoon two days later found us approaching the summit, and despite all of being exhausted, grubby, and moderately in need of disinfectant, our steps were growing lighter in anticipation of the big event.

Then as we turned a corner, we stopped.

And stared.

As our guides tethered the mules, we gazed at the wall in front of us. It was at least fifty feet high and mostly sheer face. A series of ropes snaked their way down to coil loosely at our feet. I looked over at Waverly and she grinned mischievously at me.

"Holy Mother of God," whispered the man from Ohio. "We have to climb that?"

One of the guides came over to where we stood gawking.

"Okay," he began. "This is the optional part. There's two ways to go from here. Buddy," he indicated the other guide, "will lead folks the walking route. It goes around the wall, but it's quite a bit farther to travel. We can still be up and back in a day, so we can just leave the camp setup here. Anybody who wants to try the wall a try," and here everyone, not just Waverly, turned to look at me. "can give it a go with me!"

I looked at the mass of stone. I thought about creeks, and sharks, and bad landings. I thought about exotic meals in Mexico that led to projectile food poisoning, bucking horses and hungry bears in the Rockies, and then there was that hooker in Atlanta who had produced brass knuckles when I had asked her for directions.

For what felt like the first time in my life, I felt torn.

—

"So what are you going to do tomorrow?" Waverly asked me as we relaxed in our tent after dinner, her hands molding the sore muscles of my back into submission.

"What are you going to do," I countered, trying to relax under her ministrations.

"I'm taking the long way, like an intelligent, sensible human being," she replied promptly. "You, on the other hand, are more than likely going to try and climb that cliff, and just as likely end up breaking your neck when you fall."

"They use all sorts of safety gear," I protested weakly, knowing I was admitting that I planned to climb the wall despite my bad back and stiff leg.

"You'd climb that damn wall if you had to use your teeth and one toenail," she said, a little heatedly.

I sat up and regarded her in the fading light. "Do you really think I have a death wish?"

She sat back, pulled her knees up against her chest, and stared through our open test flaps towards the nightly bonfire. A few of our group still sat huddled around it, talking quietly.

"I don't actually think you have a death wish," she said at last. "I just don't have another good explanation for your obsession to accomplish the ridiculously dangerous." She sighed. "You're going to go climbing up fifty feet of sheer cliff, to do, what exactly? Get to the top of this stupid mountain?"

"This was your idea, as I recall," I pointed out.

She made a face. "I was hoping you'd realize that the most difficult way is not the best way. Sometimes it's not even the most fulfilling way."

I idly played with the zipper of my sleeping bag. "Who says?"

She growled in exasperation. "YOU do. If you found any of these harebrained stunts fulfilling, you'd stop doing them because you'd be fulfilled, you silly twit!"

I thought about that, then said, "Well, maybe I'm going to do it just because it beats spending an extra day with the tourists." I waved in direction of the tents.

"News flash," she said sourly. "You're a tourist, too."

I press my hand to my chest. "You wound me."

"I give up." She rolled her eyes at me. "If you want to do it, do it. Just remember what happened the last time you were a large distance above the ground."

With a grumble she pulled my head over and pressed a quick kiss against my temple, then pulled off her sweatshirt and snuggled down into her sleeping bag with a sigh. I looked out at the fire bemusedly, then at the view beyond, for a long moment. Then I zipped the tent flaps closed and slid into my own sleeping bag.

It took me a long time to fall asleep.

—

In, out, in, out.

HEAVE.

A few more inches.

I refused to look down. Instead I looked up at my guide's butt. The sight was uninspiring. I sighed and blew the hair out of my eyes.

"How ya doin' down there?" My guide had pushed himself away from the rock wall and was peering down at me through his legs. What an image.

"I'm fine, thanks. How far have we come?"

He squinted towards the top. "'Bout halfway. Are ya tired?"

I gingerly allowed myself to lean back against the ropes. I had two bleeding knees. I thought I was going to have a black eye from where my guide had accidentally dislodged a small rock into my face. It was damn hot.

Half way, I thought.

I could totally do this, I thought.

I thought about Waverly.

She would ask me if I was feeling fulfilled.

Sure, I was fulfilled.

I was having a great time.

"Like hell I am," I muttered under my breath. "This sucks. What am I doing up here?"

"Excuse me?" My guide was looking at me strangely.

I considered him, and his perplexed expression, sort of like when Waverly would look at me whenever I came home battered and bloody from my latest attempts at a good time.

And then I got it.

Like fireworks on the Fourth of July, I knew what made me fulfilled, and it wasn't going to be because I had climbed this stupid hunk of rock.

"You know," I said happily. "I think I'm gonna head back down."

He looked startled. "Down?"

"Yup. Down."

So saying, I pushed off from the wall and released the brake on my harness rappel.

Bounce.

Swoosh.

Bounce.

Swoosh.

Bounce.

Swooooooooooosh.

Not enough brake. Definitely needed more brake.

"Hey, shit. Y'alright?" My guide floated down perfectly then hurried over to me, holding his hand out. I reached out and let him haul me to my feet.

"I'm fine, thanks." I beamed at him, and he gave me another weird look.

He glanced at the other trail, where the rest of the group had gone. "Did you want to try and catch up with the others?"

I settled myself gingerly into a camp chair. "Nope. I'm good."

He gave me a shrewd look. "Thought you were the most gung ho of the group."

I grinned at him. "Guess not."

"Welp," he stretched, then sat down in another chair, fishing a flask out of his pocket. "Technically we only bring this out at the top, but what the hell."

The smell of whiskey wafted past my nose and I took a long sip, savoring the burn as I swallowed.

"Ah, that's good," I said. "Thanks!"

"Here's to mud in your eye."

I chuckled. "I think I'm done with that sort of thing, actually."

—

Breeeaaathe.

The little plane struggled into the air, clearing the trees with what felt like inches of room, then flung itself towards open sky and nicer airports. Waverly kept looking at me expectantly. I just smiled contentedly to myself.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. "So why didn't you go up? Is your back worse than you said?"

"Nope."

"Had a skydiving flashback?"

I leaned my seat back a little. "Nope."

"Your knees are worse than you admit?"

I stretched my legs out as far as I could manage in the cramped space. "Nope."

She huffed irritably. "Am I going to have to beat you to get you to talk to me about this?" Her small fist was curled and half-lifted in readiness, and she had an adorable scowl.

I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. The reason I decided to go to the top was that I figured out what my motivation has been all along." I paused and winked at her. "My fulfillment, if you will."

I paused, accepting a thermos passed back from a basket stashed behind the pilot's seat. I had a sniff at the contents, grinned, then took a long drink.

Waverly poked at me impatiently. I preferred the thermos and she waved it off. "Give!"

I took another sip, then turned slightly to look at her. "It's you, silly."

Her face showed her shock. "Me?"

"Yeah, I finally figured it out." I knew my grin was probably out of control, but I just couldnt' help myself. "Every time I went off and had a mishap, I could always come up to you and you'd take care of me and tell me what an idiot I was. I think I was in a weird way trying to make sure you felt you had a reason to stick around."

I took another sip. She stared at me.

"I mean, I'm not sure I ever really had fun doing any of the stuff I've been doing, and I realized it half way up that stupid cliff. I just kept thinking about how I'd get to see you afterwards, and then it hit me that I could do that without bleeding." I reached out and tapped her nose gently. "Ultimately, what I've always wanted was to come home and have you be there, to sit with me while I soaked away the pain, or suffered being your practice dummy for acupuncture or Ralphing or whatever the hell that was."

"Rolfing," she corrected faintly.

"Whatever, that shit hurt." I took another long swallow from the furnace then glanced at her, a little shyly.

To my surprise and amusement, she was blushing, but after a moment she met my gaze. Her smile was warm, and her eyes were bright. I hesitated, then reached out a hand, and she grabbed it and squeezed tightly.

We were both quiet for a while, unsure of what to say.

Then she cleared her throat. "So, does this mean you don't feel a need to go traipsing off on some hair-brained adventure anymore?"

I tilted my head, considering. "Just small adventures. With you."

She perked up. "English garden walking tour?"

I winced. "How about French winery bicycle tour instead?"

She nodded with some reluctance. "I guess I could bring myself to do that." Then she laughed and threw her arms around me.

"Hey!" I protested. "You're going to make me spill!"

She silenced me with a kiss. It was warm and glorious and I never wanted it to stop. Then she pulled away sharply, licking her lips, her eyes dropping to the thermos I still held in one hand

I offered it to her again, with a grin. "Want some tea?"


End file.
